


At First Glance

by painted_pain



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:02:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painted_pain/pseuds/painted_pain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wipes his eyes in the sleeve of his top, blinks furiously, rubs his hands on his jeans, wriggles his toes in his shoes, and then turns to look at the small boy who’s sitting beside him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At First Glance

Jensen sits on the curb outside his brand new house, staring glumly at his black Chuck Taylors and hates his parents. Hates his Mom for selling, hates his Dad for – for  _leaving._  It’s all so unfair and stupid, and it hurts in a way he didn’t know it could hurt, a big gaping hole where his friends and his school and his house and his Dad used to be. All the things he’s learned, all the nooks and crannies he found in that house are not his anymore. He’s lost the wall where his Dad measured his height every year from the age of two, nine pencil lines that marked Jensen growing up, Jensen getting taller, Jensen  _living_  in that too-small, too-perfect house. He’s lost the tree house in the back garden hidden by the vines climbing up from the sycamore tree. He’s lost his bedroom, with the window that looked out onto the street where all his friends lived.    
  
This new house is white and clean, even smaller than before because it’s just him and his Mom and no one else, and no one has ever lived in this house. It’s too empty and Jensen had heard echoes when he had first walked through the house, empty spaces he didn’t know how to fill because everything he had was back in  _his_  house in Richardson. He feels so lonely. This new house is a stranger and Jensen doesn’t want to get to know it.    
  
Jensen feels his eyes itch with unshed tears and he presses the flat of his palms into them because he’s ten and he’s a boy and boys don’t cry over stupid things like moving away from home, from safety and familiarity. He has to be strong and a big boy and be everything he promised his Dad. He has to be the man of the house now. He  _promised._  He presses his palms harder into his eyes because the itch won’t go away, it’s getting so much worse, and he can feel his elbows digging into the soft flesh just above his knees.    
  
Wetness leaks from his eyes anyway, trail down his cheeks as something brittle and sharp cracks in his chest and the edges start to dig into him and it’s really sore. Jensen sniffles, can feel the beginning of a sob start deep in his throat, just aching to burst free. He isn’t crying, he  _isn’t_ , he promised. He promised he wouldn’t cry, that he would be strong and he has been. He hasn’t cried, not once. His Mom has, all the time and he has to take care of her. So he won’t cry. He’s not crying.   
  
Jensen startles as a small hand touches his shoulder, and a soft voice asks, “Ummm, hey, you okay?” Jensen shrugs the hand off roughly and gives short, snappish reply.   
  
“Yeah, ‘m fine.”   
  
He wipes his eyes in the sleeve of his top, blinks furiously, rubs his hands on his jeans, wriggles his toes in his shoes, and then turns to look at the small boy who’s sitting beside him. The boy has shaggy brown hair that reaches his ears and curls around them slightly. There are bits of twigs and leaves in there, which match the grass stains on his plain white t-shirt and on the knees of his jeans. His face is scrunched up in a strange mixture of concern, uncertainty and friendliness and there is a tiny smile tucked into the corner of his mouth, hesitant, unsure but willingly put there, open and happy. Jensen can see the half-formed shape of a dimple on one side and he finds himself smiling slightly back.    
  
The boy grins fully now and it’s bright and clear and, well, wonderful. Jensen blinks at the intensity of it, startling at how sincere it is, how he feels suddenly like he is the most important thing to this little boy and it shocks him into widening his smile further, a warm feeling curling up in his belly that chases away the cold, dark thing that’s been sitting there for the past month.   
  
“Okay,” the boys says and then he bumps his shoulder into Jensen’s, seemingly so pleased at having gotten Jensen to smile. He can’t be more than six or seven, face and body chubby and soft and Jensen can’t get over how kind he appears. How friendly. He doesn’t understand.   
  
Jensen’s body rocks with gentle shove and as he settles back into place, he comes to a decision.    
  
“Hi, I’m Jensen, I just moved here. I don’t really know anyone, so, ummm...” He looks shyly at the other boy, eyes peering through the hair falling down across his forehead, knows he’s blushing slightly, doesn’t want to ask if this boy will show him around, can’t bring himself to ask if he will be his  _friend._   
  
The boy looks back at him, eyes dancing merrily, happily, sparkling with  _something_  and he says, “Sure, I’ll show you around. You can come over to mine for some soda or something. I live there.” He points to the house exactly opposite Jensen’s and the he jumps up, springing to his feet, barely contained energy. He holds out his hand to Jensen, dimples deepening, the sun catching the golden tan of his skin.   
  
“I’m Jared, by the way.”


End file.
